


The Things You Hope For - Epilogue

by Somedeepmystery



Series: tmfu tumblr prompts [5]
Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: F/M, Kissing, Romance, What are Tags?, gaby is mean but it's okay, tall russian makes breakfast
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-07
Updated: 2017-11-07
Packaged: 2019-01-30 21:15:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12661560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Somedeepmystery/pseuds/Somedeepmystery
Summary: "After all, she had bared her soul to him last night in order to get what she wanted. And though she had won, and won everything, she still felt the need to level the playing field a little."





	The Things You Hope For - Epilogue

**Author's Note:**

> Apparently, I couldn't leave it alone...
> 
> (OMG I suck. I ended up being rushed while posting and I forgot to say thank you to diadema for reading through this and being an awesome beta! Thank you!)

Gaby awoke to warm sunshine and the smell of fresh coffee. 

At the first brush of consciousness, she forgot where she was, but as waking fully dawned, so did her memory. Registering Illya’s scent all around her, the details of the night before poured in. A smile spread wide across her face and she laughed softly, burying her face into his pillow and pulling blankets up over her shoulder.  She let memories of what happened — how she had come to him, how he had looked beneath her, the beautiful, sweet look of surrender on his face before he’d kissed her — dance through her mind. Illya’s kisses, hard and desperate at first, had softened to slow succulent things that had made her head spin and her body melt. 

She had gotten more than she had ever dared to hope for. Thank god for vodka! If she hadn’t had that last drink before Solo had gone chasing after a waiter, she would likely be home in her own bed right now, cursing herself for her cowardice. Certainly not _ here, _ feeling the satisfying ache of a well-used body and a giddy lightness in her chest she had forgotten ever feeling before. 

She shook her head and flopped back onto the lumpy mattress. It was not a good bed. Tonight, if she had her way, (and she fully intended to have her way,) they would be in  _ her  _ bed. For now, her body was clamoring for the facilities and some of that coffee. 

When she’d finished with the first of her business, she pulled one of Illya’s turtlenecks from the top of his hamper and slid it on over her head. Her dress from last night was itchy and reeked of smoke. Illya’s sweater smelled of him and was soft against her bare skin. 

She stepped out of the bedroom, leaning on the frame a moment to watch him. He was carefully tending a pan at the stove and, along with the scent of coffee, the scent of fried pastries filled her senses. Since he didn’t look up, she moved toward him. That motion drew his eye and she enjoyed the way his gaze trailed over her, all the way down and then back up before turning away as if it wasn’t allowed. 

“Coffee,” she mumbled and he set down his spatula and fetched her a cup, filling it before handing it to her. She took it gratefully, wrapping her hands around it and inhaling the life-giving aroma. 

“Do you need an aspirin?” he asked, voice low and rough like they were the first words he had spoken that day. 

Gaby took a slow sip of her coffee. He still thought she had been drunk. An evil little thought came to light inside her mind, and she smiled behind her cup. After all, she had bared her soul to him last night in order to get what she wanted. And though she had won, and won  _ everything _ , she still felt the need to level the playing field a little. She pressed a hand to her head, forced a little frown.

“No no, I’m fine.” She took another long sip, to help keep back her smile. He nodded and turned back to the little cakes he was making. “But,” she said, looking up at him from beneath her fringe, “Illya, there is one thing I need to know. What am I doing at your flat?”

The sound of the spatula clattering first against the counter before tumbling to the floor was almost her undoing. She was no slouch in the acting department however, so she leaned back into the counter and sighed. 

“The last thing I remember is being at the club with Solo…” she looked at him from the corner of her eye and found him leaning forward on his hands, head bowed, pan forgotten. She could hear his hard breathing and decided she’d been cruel long enough. 

She set down her coffee and grabbed him, pushing him back, hard against his refrigerator, which clattered on its feet at the contact. He looked down at her, startled, lost, and she pressed herself up against him, sliding one of her legs between his. 

“I told you I  _ wasn’t _ drunk,” she said, looking up at him, her eyes sharp. 

“Gaby...” it was breathed out and she wasn’t sure if it was a statement or a question. 

She slid her hand beneath his sweater, ghosting a touch over his stomach and he inhaled sharply. “Don’t worry,” she said, flattening her hand. “I remember  _ everything _ about last night.” She smiled up at him and felt his whole body relax as he released a long breath. 

He scowled at her. “That was not funny.”

“Oh, I think it was a  _ little  _ bit funny.” She took his hand and brought it down to rest on her thigh, lifting the hem of the stolen turtleneck an inch, sliding his hand over her skin. “Now, so far this morning there has been a decided lack of kissing. I thought you—” her words cut off with a little squeak as Illya lifted her up and set her on the counter. He brought his hands up to cup her cheeks and his mouth descended on hers. 

She sighed into the weight of his kiss, the broad pressure of his lower lip, the sweep of his tongue asking for entrance. She opened to him, inviting him in, only to push back with her own exploration. She slid her hands along his skin until she could glide them along his back and pull him closer, her fingertips indenting his flesh. He moaned softly and it thrilled her. All the days and nights she’d dreamt of having him like this. 

Reality was so much better. 

They kissed until they were interrupted by her belly, which made the most obnoxious sound of hunger. Illya pulled back, smiling as he set his forehead against hers. 

“I was going to feed you breakfast,” he said, so soft, such reverence in his tone it made her ache. Instead of melting into him as she really wanted, she wrapped her legs around him, keeping him tightly against her. She looked over at the stove, the now scorched pastry lining the pan, the stack of cakes that he had already finished and the little dishes of toppings. 

“I suppose we should keep up our strength,” she said, taking a strawberry and turning it between her fingers. “It’s going to be a very full day.”

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> So, now I have this headcanon for this universe where these two are uber-professional at work, on missions, etc. but as soon as they are alone together they just start making out and they start listing all the times they _thought_ about kissing the other one throughout their time apart.


End file.
